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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116545">you can take this heart (heal it or break it all apart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableromancer/pseuds/incurableromancer'>incurableromancer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Communication, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Romance, Roommates, idiots to lovers, this one is for the retail workers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:41:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableromancer/pseuds/incurableromancer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And that hurts most of all, because the perfect man, Joe’s reason to stay and keep trying, to work something new out, forge a new path for himself, he does exist. He sleeps a room away, he has a smile like the sunrise and the dorkiest laugh Joe has ever heard, he’s exceedingly generous and considerate in bed, as he is in every aspect of his life, he has strong, experienced hands, and he’s smart, and he’s going to be a wonderful father someday- and he doesn’t love Joe back.</p><p>Or: Oh my god, they were roommates (who were in love with each other).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>367</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you can take this heart (heal it or break it all apart)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was posted on my tumblr and a lot of people seemed to find it comforting, so i thought i would throw it up here for easier access &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Joe is a second away from falling apart. There’s a dull, hot ache in the back of his throat, his eyes glazed over with tears. He feels grimy with the sweaty sheen of a 12 hour shift, the ache and exhaustion bone deep. Five years of this shit, working himself into the ground, chasing his dream, and for nothing. He opened his email over his lunch break and received another rejection from the last non-soul-crushing opportunity he could find in his field, something that would put his expertise to use, a last ditch attempt at the end of a long year of failure. He’s living paycheque to paycheque, and he rarely has time to even make the art he’s supposed to love so much anymore.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>All that, and he’s going home to the man he’s in love with, and dreading it. Nicky, his best friend since the beginning of university, his roommate, his fuck buddy who isn’t in it for more than the sex. Beautiful, kind, fucking <em>romantic</em> Nicky, intelligent Nicky, best-lay-of-Joe’s-life Nicky, Nicky who is going to have something hot and extremely edible waiting for him when he gets home, because he got lucky and swung himself a decent job as soon as he graduated his masters. Because he works normal hours, and has time to do things like cook good meals. Nicky who never sleeps in Joe’s bed, Nicky who he can’t ask to hold him and kiss him and tell him it’ll all be okay, tell him that he’s loved, that he has a home here, because he doesn’t. Not really. He has some friends, and a couple of degrees that aren’t doing him any favours, and a couple of retail jobs that are slowly draining his- well, his everything. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For the first time since leaving home, Joe is considering crawling back to his parents a continent away, admitting that they were right, that his dream of being an artist was just that. Just a dream. That there is no perfect man waiting somewhere for him after all, and everyone can just forget the dramatic explosion over his sexuality in high school, how he ran away and endeavoured to fund his own education over it, that it’s fine, he’ll beg for help with the debt, and he’ll marry a woman and go to work for his father and have a couple of children and everything will be how it was supposed to be. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And that hurts most of all, because the perfect man, Joe’s reason to stay and keep trying, to work something new out, forge a new path for himself, he does exist. He sleeps a room away, he has a smile like the sunrise and the dorkiest laugh Joe has ever heard, he’s exceedingly generous and considerate in bed, as he is in every aspect of his life, he has strong, experienced hands, and he’s smart, and he’s going to be a wonderful father someday- and he doesn’t love Joe back.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Why would he, really? What can Joe possibly offer him, other than sex on the increasingly rare days he isn’t exhausted? It isn’t looking like he has a career, not in the direction he’s trying to go. He’s losing weight, lately, and the bruises under his eyes are getting darker. He barely has time to be a good friend to Nicky anymore, let alone try and romance him, can’t remember the last time they hung out somewhere other than their couch. He thinks to himself, stepping off of the bus, that he’s going to have to try and find something that pays just a little better, so he can work a little less, let his art slip further away to take a job that’s a little more skilled, maybe even move to something in physical labor. Or, fuck, maybe he’ll have to work even more, because he hasn’t asked for the numbers, but surely Nicky is getting it together enough that he’ll want a place of his own soon enough. Or a roommate who can afford to go halfsies with him on a place that’s a little bigger, a lot nicer than theirs, and Joe will have to figure something out for himself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He drops his keys twice trying to get the door open. The <em>clang</em> sound of the second drop, loud and echoey, is what sends the first tear running down his cheek. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He pushes the door open and in he goes, has to lean against the wall to get his shoes off, legs ready to give out. When he shuffles further in, he frowns, stomach growling, and the warm, comforting, spicy smell of Nicky’s lamb stew, his top secret recipe that he invented just for Joe when he got the internship he wanted in second year of his first degree, his head is tricking him into thinking it’s wafting through the apartment, making his mouth water. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sucks in on a sob, scrubbing at the salty tears running down in little rivers to soak his beard. Has to stand there for a minute, trembling, before shuffling forward and peeking around the corner into the kitchen. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sure enough, there’s Nicky. He’s wearing sweats and his university t-shirt, humming along with the radio, stirring the stew, looking terribly cozy and domestic. It's almost worse than if he hadn't have been home at all, and Joe definitely doesn’t deserve Nicky's cooking, because he’s a failure. Why would Nicky even bother with it? On a random Thursday, no less? Is Joe forgetting some special occasion? But the stew is only for <em>Joe’s</em> special days, and he’s certain that in the grand scheme of his life, today is anything but special. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky looks so warm and soft and cuddly, is the thing. Joe wants to burrow into his muscled back, nose against his neck, just stand and hug him. Kiss him. Wants Nicky to wipe his cheeks and breathe with him, make sure he doesn’t fall completely apart. Wants to ask about Nicky’s day, hear all about his coworker Nile and her funny American accent, and wants to be able to give a better answer than the one he has when Nicky asks how his day was in return. Wants to cuddle up and be loved. He wants Nicky to <em>love</em> him, with an ache and a longing worse than that for all of the jobs he’s failing to get. And the thing is, the career won’t be what he mourns most if he goes home to his parents. It’ll be this. It’ll be Nicky, and their shitty apartment, and the life they could have had, even if Joe had to watch him go fall in love with somebody better and raise kids who Joe would be nothing more than a cool uncle to, if he was lucky enough to still get to be close to Nicky by then.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He hasn’t cried in front of Nicky before. He isn’t about to start now. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So he spins on his heel, heading for the shower. But he doesn’t quite manage to stifle the next sob, and before he’s managed to get to his room for his clothes and towel, he hears the radio click off. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Joe? Is that you?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hands trembling, he manages to grab something like pyjamas before hurrying back out, trying to get to the washroom and get the door closed so he can have his breakdown in privacy, but of course Nicky is blocking the door. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he sees Joe’s face, sees the tears and the hurt and the pain, the look on his face is stricken. Eyes wide, lips parted, no words coming out. He reaches out a hand so slowly, like he wants to touch, to hug or hold, and Joe <em>can’t.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stumbles back, shaking his head. Brings his arms up like he’s protecting himself, tight to his chest, watches Nicky’s eyes quickly take stock of him from head to toe.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?“ </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe can only shake his head, thoughts whirring, beginning to feel dizzy. What <em>is</em> wrong? What can he say about all of this right now? What about this situation is new, other than the part where he’s thinking of going home, of finally giving up? Nicky’s already realized Joe is fighting a losing battle, hasn’t he? All the months of working so hard to get nowhere. Has already seen the proof of Joe’s current jobs eating him up inside, has been watching him get more and more hopeless. He wonders how pathetic he must look, now, standing a foot and a half from his little desk, covered in hopeful sketches and drawings and supplies, finally realizing what a lost cause he is, crumbling into himself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stands there, crying his eyes out, and Nicky slowly advances until he can get his arms around him, hug him close. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky’s arms are so strong, so comfortable and familiar. Warm and safe. Joe sobs into his shoulder, and Nicky rubs his back. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s it. Breathe, Joe. I have you. Can you nod your head for me?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe takes a moment to process the meaning of the words being said to him, and then nods his head, his hot cheek brushing close against Nicky’s.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good boy. Are you hurt, physically? Or sick?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe shakes his head no, and Nicky squeezes him tighter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is there an emergency? Something happening tonight, or,” Joe can hear the way Nicky gets a little quieter, hesitates, “did you hear from your family?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky just holds him a minute, then, and Joe’s shoulders are shaking, but he’s a little less dizzy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Did something happen at work?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe cries out a little, a pained sound, unintentional. Nods his head. Wants to burrow deep and stay hidden in Nicky’s arms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky keeps rubbing his back, and Joe realizes they’re walking somewhere, slowly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I hope you’ll tell me about it when you feel ready. If that’s later tonight, or tomorrow, or next week. You know I’m always here. Right now I’m going to run you a bath. I know you’re tired, and you need to eat, and a shower is faster, but this will help you calm down. We’ll have you nice and clean, fed, and in bed soon, I promise.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe is glad that Nicky can’t read his mind, can’t tell that the next sob is because he desperately does not want to go to bed alone with his thoughts.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He finds himself sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. Nicky pulls away very slowly, cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead before he leans over the tub and gets the taps going. Joe watches him adjust the water, the calm that comes after crying coming and going, ebbing an flowing like a wave. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It holds a moment, and he uses the clarity to ask, voice garbled and deep, “why did you make the lamb stew?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky’s looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched together, plugging the drain with the stopper.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It makes you smile. I,” he licks his lips, hand reaching out and squeezing Joe’s shin. “I haven’t seen your smile much, lately.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe can only scrub at his eyes, wouldn’t know what to say to that even if he wasn’t crying his eyes out like a child. Another wave of anguish hits him, then, another outpouring of tears. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It feels like going through the motions in a way, Nicky slowly stripping him of his clothes, patiently waiting for his permission through nods before moving onto the next item, all the way down until he’s naked. It might have felt weird, if it were anyone else, too intimate. But Nicky has seen him naked countless times before. They had shower sex just the other week, even, here in this bathroom, with its weird yellow lightbulb.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s so tempting to just let himself be comforted by it all, once he’s stepped into the bath and realizes that Nicky intends to help him through the entire process. The tub is deliciously warm, just edging on too hot, and it’s full of bubbles. he finds himself sat down with his knees to his chest, gently flicking his fingers through them while Nicky shampoos his hair, gently tips his head back to rinse, puts in some conditioner to sit a few minutes and then rinses that too, and gently swiping a cloth over Joe’s body. And that’s the part that’s the most difficult, Nicky’s hands so gently, lovingly rubbing over his skin, over his shoulders, his back, his arms, his chest, his neck. His sleeves are rolled up, and he’s humming a song Joe heard on the radio and told him he liked. For half a second he can almost believe that it’s real, that Nicky will always be here to take care of him like this, and the tears have been slowly trickling down this whole time, but now he hitches in a sob again. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sorry,“ He whimpers, overcome, aware of Nicky gently curling an arm around his shoulders and murmuring to him. Can’t make himself pick out the words. “I need to tell you something. You’re going to hate me. I’m so sorry. But I can’t let you do this for me, Nicky, this isn’t fair.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky only holds him tighter, leaning over the tub, and Joe hates that he’s so considerate, wishes he would have left him alone in his room to cry, wishes they weren’t so close. “What isn’t fair?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He takes a breath, and pours out his heart for Nicky to break. “I like you so much. I’m- a mess, and you’re just being nice, but this is boyfriend stuff, and- it’s breaking my heart every time you do stuff like this or-“ <em>when we fuck,</em> “when you do boyfriend things with me and I know you don’t feel the same. Because I want more than that Nicky, I know you don’t, it’s okay. But this isn’t- you can’t do stuff like this for me. Please.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky’s gone very still, and Joe wants to scream, because he’s not moving away, still curled as close as he can get without entering the tub himself, and his knees must be aching against the floor, and Joe<em> loves</em> him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What,“ Nicky whispers, sounding haunted, “makes you think that I don’t feel the same?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe doesn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that. He can barely see through the blur of tears, but Nicky grips his hand, suddenly, tight. Laces their fingers, and so Joe takes a breath and forces out the words. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What would make me think that you did? We got drunk six months ago and fucked, and nothing changed.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“People have always said we act like a married couple,” Nicky says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe almost laughs, because it’s true. And it’s made his crush, his <em>love </em>so much harder to deal with, the cruel caricature of what he wants with Nicky so bad, people assuming they’re together and Joe having to gently correct them.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He takes another breath, and continues on. “You never stay with me. after we- <em>mm,</em>” he whimpers, a pathetic sound, and he has to bury his face in his knees to stomach the shame he feels, saying these things out loud, admitting them to Nicky. “You leave me alone. After we sleep together. It’s like you-“ <em>use me,</em> he doesn’t say, because it’s not fair. But that’s how it feels. “-like it’s just sex for you.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky’s face goes so soft and caring and <em>hurt</em> in that moment that it feels a little bit like being flayed open, just glancing up at him to try and figure out what the silence means. He has to put his head back down between his knees.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, Joe, honey.“ Nicky strokes a hand over his curls, and Joe sobs again, because there have been dozens and dozens of nights when he’s thought about Nicky doing that for him, longing for such a gentle, chaste touch in the cold, empty moments after Nicky padded over to his own room and closed the door. “Sweetheart, you’re working every single day right now. You have been this whole year. I sleep through my alarm if I don’t set three, I didn’t want to disrupt the only time you have to rest. Of course I wanted to stay. Look at me, Joe. Please.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe manages to lift his head, but only after Nicky’s hand slides over to cup the back of his neck, warm and lovely. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Mostly he’s only peeking up from his arms, but Nicky’s thumb sweeps gentle and loving over his skin when their eyes meet, like he’s saying Joe’s done a good job, encouraging. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Every time, I wanted to stay. God, I’ve been planning all the things I want to do with you since you told me you have to take your vacation days by the end of the year. The week is blocked off in my calendar and color coded, you know. The first two days are pink, because we’re set to do nothing but sleep as much as we like, in the same bed, spooning encouraged. Showers and other bathroom breaks will be permitted, but nothing else except for extenuating circumstances. I will provide food and drink.“ His mouth ticks up at the corner there, and Joe manages a thin, watery smile in return, because two days in bed sounds divine, and two days in bed <em>with Nicky</em> sounds like heaven itself. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The next day is green, and it’s yours to choose, but I thought we might go see that greenhouse we used to back in university.“ Nicky pauses, then, pets over Joe’s neck, up and down, up and down, soothing. “That’s the first place you ever drew me. You were doing a sketchbook assignment for class, drawing the plants, and you drew me too, looking at the flowers. I don’t know if you remember. It was only a sketch. And you said I could have it after. I still have it. And I was going to bring it, if we went to the greenhouse on that day, because I thought that would be a romantic thing to do on our first official date.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe’s heart is thudding painfully, and he’s sure he’s misheard. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky continues, “I’ve made a mistake somewhere. I thought- God,<em> obviously</em> we’re more than friends. You <em>know</em> that, or I thought you did. And I don’t mean friends with benefits or whatever it is you thought, Joe. I mean that I have been in love with you since our first year of university, and I thought now that we are finally here, we kiss, and we do the fun sex stuff, and we watch shitty television and laugh at the end of the long days- I’m getting my career started, and you’re working so hard- you’re the most dedicated, passionate person I have ever met, Joe. You inspire me everyday -I thought we could wait a little longer for the big romantic gestures and the dates and things. We already support each other in everything, we already know how to take care of each other, and everything is so intense right now. I thought we were on the same page. But I have failed you here, amore mio. No more. To be clear,” he thumbs Joe’s cheek, wiping more tears away, “I love you, and I have every intention of dating you, or being in a proper relationship with you, being your boyfriend, your partner, however you want to call it. And Joe- if I had known you were feeling this way, if you had told me, I would not have left you alone. I am so sorry that I did. And now you talk, because communication is the first thing we need to catch up on.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe snuffles, at a loss for words, funnily enough. He catches Nicky’s hand in his, and after holding it tight for a moment, willing his pulse to slow down, he whispers, “can you hand me the towel?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky blinks, and then turns and grabs Joe’s towel, big and warm and fluffy. He gives him a hand up and out of the tub, and then sets about vigorously rubbing it over him. Joe sniffles and watches, half-uncomprehending. He can’t recall anyone having done this for him before. It feels so very warm and safe. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky tucks it over his shoulders, once he’s finished giving Joe the pat down. Then Joe blinks at him, his handsome face. Takes his fill of the determined gleam in his green eyes, and leans their foreheads together. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You love me?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky’s arms come tight around him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“More than anything.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe sniffles, relishing in the warmth of being held against his chest. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you too.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky makes a soft sound in his throat. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know, honey. But it’s so nice to hear you say it.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe hums, the exhaustion and the after-crying calm finally hitting him like a truck. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s the most important thing,“ he whispers. “That I love you. There’s more. But I’m tired. And-“ his stomach growls, as if on queue. Nicky giggles, and it’s remarkable how sweet a sound it is to hear without the guilt of harbouring unrequited feelings. “I also think it’s important to tell you that I’m really clingy, physically. Like, if you thought what we were doing before was what I’m like in a relationship, you were so wrong, babe. Get ready to be kissed and cuddled all the time. And I don’t care about your alarms. I want to sleep beside you.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nicky sighs, looking like the happiest man in the world.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay. I also am looking forward to that. Like, a stupid amount. You have to tell me if I’m too excited and I get wiggly. But first, clothes, and then stew?“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joe snuffles, taking a moment to hug Nicky tight and breathe him in. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His life is still a mess, and he’s going to feel like death going in to work tomorrow. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he has Nicky. And he can talk to him about it all when he’s ready, what he might do, what he might change about his plans. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it’ll be okay. Because Nicky will be there to tell him it will, and kiss him better if it’s not. To love him no matter if he finds some success in art, if he goes back to school, or even if he spends the rest of his life working retail.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,“ he says, stifling a yawn, letting Nicky brush the last of the tears from his cheeks. “Clothes, and then stew.“</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title from love me or leave me by little mix, a song that i cried to a lot in high school fcgvhbjn</p><p>Knitsical wrote an insanely incredible companion piece to this called Lamb Stew as a Metaphor for Romantic Love and i'm obsessed with it and you should all read it and give them some love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/31228442">Lamb Stew as a Metaphor for Romantic Love</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knitsical/pseuds/Knitsical">Knitsical</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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